Chocolate Hearts
by Marla Fair
Summary: Charles Ingalls is having a rough day, and to make it worse, everyone around him seems to be having fun. Sometimes even a near perfect Pa makes a mistake. A short story written for Father's Day to thank all of our hard and sometimes *over* worked Pas.


Chocolate Hearts

Charles Ingalls puffed out an exasperated breath and looked toward the barn door. Gigglin' girls. He was surrounded by a gaggle of gigglin' girls.

Not that he usually minded, mind you. The sound of his children's laughter was a balm and a joy. But today was hot and he was tired and the piece of furniture he was working on was being more contrary that Caroline when she had her dander up. If the wood was supposed to go in, it went out. If it was supposed to turn, it stayed put, and when he wanted it to stay put it whirled like a dervish! He'd been at it all day and when all he wanted to do was go into the house and wash down and then _sit_ down at his table and have supper, he was regrouping and rethinking and redoing. Which was really hard to do.

In the midst of a gaggle of gigglin' girls.

He sighed as he turned back to the paper in front of him. It was covered with sketches and a few equations, but also covered with sweat. He looked hard at it, checkin' for blood – he was sure he must have sweated _some_ out by now – but all he saw was a half-day's thinkin' in ink fadin' away to nothin'.

And still those girls kept gigglin'.

Now, no one would say Charles Ingalls was a saint – certainly not his wife or his best friend. Charles snorted. Well, Isaiah had accused him of bein' one a few times when he was in a 'mood', but he'd rightly learned different after they'd exchanged a few friendly blows. He had a temper, which he usually kept in check, except for the rare occasion when somethin' edged him a little too close to the line he had drawn for himself when he got married.

Like a gigglin' gaggle of girls.

Charles closed his eyes. His hand was actually shaking. He dropped the pencil he was holding, took several deep breaths, and then stormed over to the barn door, threw it open, and shouted.

"What does a man have to do to have a bit of peace and quiet around here!"

Three things happened in the next ten seconds. Carrie started gigglin' again. Apparently she thought the fact that he was red in the face was funny. Marie started studying her toes. Laura stiffened, looked like he had hit her just as hard as he had Isaiah, and then did what Laura usually did when she was upset.

Ran for the hills.

The eleventh second made _him_ want to run for the hills too as his wife let loose with her 'it's only one word, but you better hear a hundred' .

"Charles!"

Carrie was still gigglin'. He wondered why when she knew that tone meant business. Lookin' down, he saw that not only was his youngest's little face covered with somethin' dark, so were her little toes that were wigglin' like the fish in Plum Creek, only in white cake instead of water.

Somethin' dark like chocolate icing.

Now chocolate was a mighty expensive thing and – considerin' their money woes – he wondered where in the world his wife and children had come up with the cash to buy it from that greedy old battleaxe in Walnut Grove, and _why_ in the world they would have wasted the money to do so and then he remembered.

He remembered what day it was.

Caroline said it again. This time it brought tears to his eyes.

"Charles..."

No one giggled this time. Carrie had finally figured out everybody else thought somethin' was wrong and she'd started to cry. Mary was cryin' too. Caroline had tears in her eyes.

He felt about an inch tall.

Drawing a deep breath, he said, "I'll go find Laura,' since he didn't know what else _to_ say.

His wife bit her lip and nodded.

And he ran. Just like his little girl. He ran for the hills, which was really the area of the sod house since the 'hills' for Half-pint was usually the loft in the barn and since he had been standin' in the door of the barn makin' a fool of himself, she'd couldn't get in.

It was dusk and so it was a little hard to find her – but only a little. As he came close to the house, Charles saw her little boots stickin' out from a clump of tall grass beside it. He could hear Laura snifflin' too. Stopping just short of where she could see him, Charles thought a moment. He could go to her and tell her he was sorry, but sayin' sorry when you not only ruined your child's day but a chocolate-iced cake as well, seemed somethin' short of enough. Instead, he walked over to the steps of the sod house and sat down. With a glance to make sure she had not run off, he closed his eyes and pointed his face toward the sky.

"Father, I figured I better stop and talk to You," he began. "I've been fidgettin' and figurin' and fumin' and plumb forgot what day it is. Fact is, I'm not even sure I remembered to say 'hello' this mornin', and I _know_ there weren't any 'thank yous' crossed these lips." Charles sighed. "I know You know how it is. A man, well, he gets to thinkin' that everything rests on his shoulders, that if _he_ doesn't provide for those he loves, there'll _be_ no provision. He gets to thinkin' that if he doesn't work from sun-up to sundown, his family will go hungry or thirsty; that they'll have no clothes or shoes. He gets so caught up in all the things he _doesn't_ have that he plain forgets to be thankful for the ones he _does._ " He glanced again to make sure Laura was still there.

He could see her socks now.

"A minute ago, Lord – and I'm ashamed to admit this – I got right angry with my girls and just 'cause they were gigglin'. Now, I confess, there's not a sweeter sound than those little girls laughin', and instead of enjoying that sound, I marched right out of that barn and shouted and...scared them." He stopped, choked for a moment. "I need to repent of that anger, Lord, but even more, I need to remember that _You_ are their Provider and not me. I have to remember that I wouldn't be able to give them _one_ thing if it wasn't for the fact that You gave it first and that, even more than that, you gave us Your Son. So, since it's Father's Day, I thought I'd better talk to you and let you know that this son of yours has done a pretty poor job of bein' a father to his own this day."

As he stopped speaking, Charles felt a little arm circle his waist and then he heard the words, "It's okay, Pa."

He opened his eyes and looked down to find Laura lookin' up at him.

"I'm sorry, Half-pint," he said, meaning it. "I'm sorry I got mad and I'm sorry about your cake."

She sniffed and shrugged. "It was only an old cake, Pa. It's all right."

"No," he said, turning toward her, "it wasn't just an old cake. It was hours of love poured into plannin' and choosin' a gift, and then workin' to earn the money to buy that chocolate, and more hours of watchin' and makin' sure I was busy so you could bake it in secret and then come out of the house before supper gigglin' and grinnin', ready to surprise me." He stopped. "I was wrong, Half-pint. I took all of that away. Can you forgive me?"

He'd taught them askin' for forgiveness was a two way street. Someone had to offer it and someone had to accept or it didn't mean anything.

"I forgive you, Pa," his little girl said solemnly. Then, like sunshine breakin' through the clouds on a murky day, she beamed. "And I love you too."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

He was still sniffin' when they made it back to the house. He swung Laura off his shoulders and sat her on her feet and then stared at the door.

"It's okay, Pa," his child said as she slipped her hand into his. "Ma still loves you too."

Openin' that door and steppin' into his house was one of the hardest things he ever had to do. He had his head down and so he didn't see what was going on until Carrie came over and wrapped her arms around his mule-ear boots.

"Happy Pa's Day!" his little cherub chirped.

A second later, Mary joined her, only she wrapped her arms around his middle. "I love you, Pa. We all do. Happy Father's Day."

It took Caroline softly calling his name to bring his head up. He had to blink away tears to see what she was holding.

It was a tray of cookies. Each one of them had a little chocolate heart in the middle.

Melted, just like his.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Just before midnight Charles sneaked out of bed. In his nightshirt and bare feet he tiptoed through the house, quietly opened the door, and stepped outside. The stars were brilliant – diamond white – and sparkled in a black velvet sky. Beneath them his growing crop of corn shifted gently with the warm mid-summer breeze. He paused to listen to those stars and then closed his eyes and turned his face toward the one who had created him and whispered.

"Happy Father's Day."

 _Matthew 6: 25-32 KJV_

 _Therefore I say unto you, take no thought for your life, what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink; nor yet for your body, what ye shall put on. Is not the life more than meat, and the body than raiment? Behold the fowls of the air: for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they? Which of you by taking thought can add one cubit unto his stature? And why take ye thought for raiment? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin. And yet I say unto you, that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. Wherefore, if God so clothe the grass of the field, which to day is, and to morrow is cast into the oven, shall he not much more clothe you, o' ye of little faith? Therefore take no thought, saying, what shall we eat? or, what shall we drink? or, wherewithal shall we be clothed? For after all these things do the Gentiles seek: for your heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things._


End file.
